“Fucking bitch,” she heard Jonah mutter behind her.
Then Shane lunged at him.
Lilah pivoted on her heel so quickly her vision swam, practically tackling him, diverting his fist seconds before it made contact with Jonah’s face. Their momentum knocked them both off-balance, sending her sprawling on top of him in the mud. He let out a hiss as her elbow collided with the side he’d beenbabying—his bad rib. At the same time, she landed on her wrist at an awkward angle, making her yelp in pain.
They lay there in stunned silence for a moment as Lilah waited for the air to return to her lungs. Shane moved first, pushing himself up to a sitting position with a groan, Lilah clinging to him as they struggled to their feet. Jonah watched them with an amused expression so punchable that, for a fleeting moment, she regretted pulling Shane back.
“You don’t get to fucking talk to her like that,” Shane said, still breathing hard. “You need to apologize. Now.”
Jonah looked both of them up and down. “Sorry,” he said, not even attempting to sound sincere. He turned away, addressing the crew. “Let’s wrap this up. I don’t need this shit. We’re done here.”
After a few uncertain seconds, the set churned into motion again.
Lilah and Shane trudged down the path that led to the trailers, Lilah slowing her pace to match his without thinking twice about it.
“You okay?” she asked, sneaking a sidelong glance at him.
“Yeah. I will be.” His words slurred together with fatigue. “You?”
“Yeah.”
They walked in silence for another few paces. To Lilah’s surprise, she started to laugh, helpless, hysterical giggles bubbling up from deep in her chest.
“I can’t believe you tried to punch him. I didn’t know you were a punching guy.”
He smiled ruefully. “Neither did I.”
“I’m kind of surprised that’s what set you off. What, no one’s allowed to call me a bitch except you?”
“I’ve never called you a bitch.”
Lilah scoffed. “Oh, fuck off.”
“I’m serious,” Shane said, and the forcefulness in his tone had her glancing over at him in surprise. “You’re always calling yourself that, not me.”
She raised her eyebrows, even as something in his expression had goosebumps prickling down her back—or maybe it was her soaked shirt that was causing them. “You expect me to believe you’venevercalled me a bitch. Not once, even behind my back, in all these years.”
He paused for a long moment. “Okay, maybe notnever.” His sheepishness had her cracking up despite herself. “But not in a long time,” he continued. “Not any time I can remember. Really. And if I did, I’m sure you didn’t deserve it, and I’m sorry. I was probably being as much of an asshole as he was.”
She let the thought settle over her for a few more paces, the edge of the closest trailer coming into view. Remorse trickled through her. “DidI deserve it, though? Back there. Maybe I should’ve just kept my mouth shut.”
He shook his head emphatically. “No. No. You were…thank you. For saying something.” He glanced behind them, where Natalie, Rafael, Margaux, and Brian were slowly making their way down the same path. “I know they appreciate it, too.”
Lilah looked down at the ground, uncomfortable. “Sure. It was nothing.”
He ascended the stairs to the wardrobe trailer then turned back to her. “It wasn’t nothing,” he said simply, before pulling the door open and stepping aside. “After you.”
Hours later, as the van approached the hotel, Lilah woke with a start, chagrined to find she’d nodded off on Shane’s shoulder. With her tendency for motion sickness, it was unusual for her to fall asleep in the car at all. It was a testament to howrun-down she was that she was passing out every time she sat still for more than fifteen minutes.
She probably should’ve known better than to sit next to him on the way back, but she’d slid into the seat automatically, too tired to think about it. At least he was out cold, too, his breathing slow and even.
But that wasn’t the most disturbing part. It was the realization that, at some point during the ride, they’d started holding hands—her fingers fully intertwined with his, their hands resting between them atop their pressed-together thighs.
Slowly, her pulse pounding like she was defusing a bomb, she straightened one finger at a time and eased her palm out of his grip, dreading the prospect of him waking up before she was free. If he did, they’d both be burdened with the mounting evidence that something was happening between them that they might actually have to address. But if she was the only one who knew about it, maybe they could keep ignoring it a little longer. Run out the clock until the show ended and they could be done with each other for good.
He didn’t wake up, though. He just shifted closer, letting out a soft, sleepy groan that made her heart ache with recognition.
18
